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The R-Files

You’ve heard of the X-Files, right? Well, this is a cautionary tale of the R-Files; the Refrigerator Files. Trust me, it’s a place for alien life forms.

The Crankee Yankee and I have a regular-size refrigerator and it’s a good one. That said, we often overload it to the point where it just isn’t possible to see what all is in there. As I am the one who usually makes the meals, it really is my fault that our poor ‘fridge gets overwhelmed.

It seems that I can’t make a simple meal without it being enough to feed a small army. I don’t know what I’m thinking; it’s only for the two of us. So of course now and then our long-suffering ‘fridge needs a hostile take-over.

This clean-out was epic. Here are some of the “food turned to science experiments”:

mold-encrusted tomato sauce

a forgotten small jar of greenish soup

a small chicken carcass which had been stripped down to two measly legs; not even enough to make soup with

a few stalks of celery so limp you could tie them in a knot

two and a half dozen eggs (I took a dozen of them and made egg salad)

two full packages of English muffins, squirreled way back in the ‘fridge

a jar half-filled with ancient salsa (it had actually turned gray)

And then there were all the little dips we like with crackers: port wine cheese dip, smoked salmon spread (4 containers, barely touched and still eatable), artichoke dip that had turned badly, and one ancient hot dog.

So, swearing all the way, I cleaned out the dregs, reorganized everything and put up a list of the tiddle-taddles there was to eat in there. I listed them by “sell by” dates; my shorthand for “eat it before it turns into toxic waste.”